Fate and Fortune

“Sweetheart, what name did you give the kitten?” Tan Yang asked, holding Yan Qin close as she watched her daughter present the little white cat as if it were a treasure.

“Um, I named her Mama,” Yan Qin answered with a frown, looking up at her mother and explaining in all seriousness, her lips pursed, “Because, because on the morning when Daddy brought the kitten, Mama, you left…”

Her voice grew softer and softer, her head bowing low. Even a child does not wish to speak of her own sorrows. Tan Yang hugged her daughter tighter, her chin resting on Yan Qin’s head, and the tears began to fall once again.

Yan Qin looked up and saw her mother crying, and she too began to sob in hiccuping gasps. Stroking her daughter’s hair, Tan Yang asked, “Sweetheart, will you come with Mama?” Yan Qin nodded as hard as she could, then looked at Tan Yang, tears shining in her eyes, and asked, “But Daddy will come too, won’t he?” Tan Yang opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say.

That night, long after midnight, while Tan Yang slept soundly with Yan Qin in her arms, he opened the bedroom door, walked to the window, bent down, and stood motionless, gazing at Tan Yang and their daughter. After a long time, he suddenly leaned over and kissed Tan Yang’s forehead. The sleeping Tan Yang was startled awake by the kiss. Moonlight traced his silhouette through the sheer white curtains; she stared at him wide-eyed. He forced a smile, turned, and left the room, closing the door behind him, leaving only the thick scent of alcohol hanging in the air. Downstairs, the clock struck three, each slow chime dragging out an endless, sleepless night.

By the time daylight filled the room, Tan Yang finally drifted back to sleep. When she awoke, it was nearly noon. She raised her hand to touch her forehead; if not for the lingering smell of liquor, she could almost have believed last night’s kiss had been a dream—a dream outside reality, and not a bad one.

Five days pass quickly. On the fourth evening, Bi Qingtang sat alone on the sofa, the sunset bleeding through the great glass window behind him, painting the room blood-red. Empty liquor bottles lay haphazardly on the floor beside the coffee table. A cigarette dangled from Bi Qingtang’s lips, smoke curling in front of his unfocused eyes—a reflection of his muddled heart.

He pinched out his cigarette, poured foreign liquor into a glass, and downed it in one gulp. The burning spirit seared his empty stomach, the pain soothing him like an anchor. He set down the glass and stared at the Browning pistol on the table, then picked up a handkerchief and polished the gun over and over until the metal gleamed red in the evening light. Only then did he load the bullets, one by one, his face set in grim, fearless resolve.

He was a man living on the edge, ready to stake his life, and so he did not fear.

Bi Qingtang drew heavily on a couple more cigarettes. Just then, the door creaked open and a small figure slipped in—a little girl in a knee-length tulle dress, clutching a giant doll. At the sight of his daughter, Bi Qingtang’s stern face melted. He smiled at Yan Qin, and she grinned back, running to him and clambering onto his lap. Afraid his cigarette would burn her, he quickly stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“Sweetheart, have you eaten?”

“I ate with Mama.”

Bi Qingtang ruffled her hair, but Yan Qin wrinkled her nose and muttered, “Daddy, it smells awful in here!” Only then did he notice the heavy, acrid stench of smoke and liquor. Worried for his child, he quickly set her down and went to open the window.

Yan Qin reached for her doll on the sofa, but its leg knocked a glass off the coffee table. With a crisp crash, the glass shattered on the floor. Hearing the noise, Bi Qingtang turned and saw Yan Qin crouching down to pick up the shards.

“Sweetheart! Don’t touch that!” he called anxiously, hurrying to her side. Yan Qin instantly let go, but the sharp edge still nicked her tender hand. As blood welled up, her mouth trembled, and she burst into tears. Bi Qingtang fished out a handkerchief and pressed it to her wound, scolding, “Why did you try to pick it up?” Yan Qin cried in grievance, “Mama said, whatever you drop, you have to pick up yourself.” Seeing her father say nothing, she raised her finger, looked up at him with teary eyes, and whimpered, “Daddy, Daddy, it hurts!”

Bi Qingtang’s heart ached for his injured daughter, and seeing her like this, it twisted all the more. He gathered Yan Qin in his arms, patting and soothing her. She nestled against his chest, pouting in silence. As evening fell and the breeze swept in from the window, Yan Qin shivered instinctively. Bi Qingtang hurriedly took off his jacket and wrapped her in it.

“Sweetheart, are you still cold?” Yan Qin shook her head, tugging at the buttons of his shirt. After a moment's thought, Bi Qingtang said softly, “Sweetheart, you’re a big girl now. You can’t always cry.” Yan Qin frowned, burrowing her head deeper into his chest, smearing tears and snot all over his shirt. Bi Qingtang looked down at his daughter and smiled helplessly, a bittersweet taste shrouding his face.

Yes, this was his daughter. Just six years old, afraid of pain, afraid of the cold, prone to tears and tantrums, demanding to be fed when in a mood—yet she was his precious darling, unable to be apart from him even for a moment. If he was not there, what would become of her? He dared not imagine.

He grabbed the liquor bottle from the coffee table, tilted his head back, and drank deeply. When it was empty, he placed it on the floor, sighed heavily, and took up the pistol, deftly removing the bullets and setting them on the table.

That year, before his daughter was born, he had once told Zhao Ling—children around the knees, and parents should not take risks.

After a while, Uncle Chen came looking for him. Bi Qingtang set his daughter down, picked up the pistol from the coffee table, and left in haste. Yan Qin tilted her head at the bullets on the table, curiously reaching out to touch them before closing her small hand around one.

The next morning, after breakfast, Tan Yang was preparing to leave when Bi Qingtang appeared at the bedroom door. He wore a gray double-breasted suit, his hair impeccably combed. He had always been a man of poise and charm; these days, thinner than before, he looked younger still. Tan Yang watched him in a daze, recalling the first time she saw him in Tongli twelve years ago. Sensing her distracted gaze, Bi Qingtang felt a strange peace; a woman who could look at him that way surely still loved him. In the end, they were bound by feeling.

Tan Yang brooded inwardly. Thinking back, her heart had been stirred the first time she met him. Later, when she arrived in Shanghai, she had quickly fallen for him—only she’d been too naïve to realize it at the time.

Bi Qingtang turned and locked the door behind him, then approached Tan Yang with concern. “Little Sister, how’s your health? Are you fully recovered?” Tan Yang nodded, hesitated, then said, “I’m leaving.” She stood, but Bi Qingtang stepped forward, gripping her arm tightly, his voice trembling with emotion as he whispered in her ear, “Little Sister…” That one heartfelt call, tinged with a quiver, tugged at her heartstrings, leaving her flustered. She tried to pull her arm away, but her strength was nothing compared to his. He pulled her fiercely into his embrace.

Tan Yang, both angry and frustrated, demanded, “Bi Qingtang, what are you doing?” Bi Qingtang pressed her ever tighter, stubbornly trying to make her part of his body, his very life. She struggled until her strength was spent, coughing repeatedly in agitation before he finally loosened his hold, gazing at her with a look of near-pleading. “Little Sister, can’t you stay?” He was accustomed to being strong, so this lowly plea, coming from him, sent a chill of despair through the room.

Tan Yang could only shake her head, tears streaming down. “I know. I’ve always known. But you—just as you are—killed those closest to me for money! My love for you is no less than yours for me, and it began so long ago I can’t even say when! But you took this love and sullied it with the deaths of my kin, with the Buddha of Suffering you tricked from my hands! Is there any love more excruciatingly awkward than this? And you ask me to stay? How can I?”

Bi Qingtang gripped her hand, his eyes bloodshot, almost losing control. “Little Sister, I know you can’t get past it. So let me give you a chance—take revenge for them, and then you’ll find peace and perhaps you’ll stay, right?” He pulled a pistol from his pocket, released the safety, and placed it in her hand, pressing the barrel to his heart as he stepped closer. “Little Sister, I’ve killed more people than you’ve saved as a doctor. Those people are dead, and their loved ones can only go on living without hope of vengeance. But you are different. You are the one I love. If you leave, I might as well be dead. If taking my life will let you stay willingly, then pull the trigger for revenge, and I will never utter a word of protest.”

Tan Yang was stunned by his actions, but Bi Qingtang’s tone softened as he continued gently, “But, Little Sister, if you remember all we’ve shared and cannot bring yourself to do it, then stay. That means, in your heart, Big Brother, our daughter, and this family weigh more than the old grievances and the dead. You need not feel guilty anymore. When we’re both gone, even if you meet your cousin on the road to the afterlife, you can say, ‘Cousin, I truly meant to avenge you. I almost killed Bi Qingtang, but I couldn’t, because he is my husband, the father of my child. I couldn’t leave my child orphaned.’” Having said this, Bi Qingtang closed his eyes, calmly awaiting her decision.

Tan Yang stared at him, as if unsure whether she’d heard his words at all. After a moment, she looked down at the gun in her hand, thoughtful. Then she lifted her head, her gaze steady and unwavering. She thought, if a single shot could truly redeem the debt, if his blood and pain could pay it, then perhaps she could forgive him. With this in mind, she resolutely pried his hand from the gun, moved the barrel up two ribs, then another two—so that it pressed just below his left collarbone, near the apex of his lung. If a shot were fired, she reasoned, it would not be fatal. She even glanced at the white bedsheets, pondering what would happen—whether it would bleed, whether there would be a pneumothorax, and how she would respond.

A moment later, a sharp, crisp crack resounded through the empty room, throwing their hearts into the abyss, paralyzed.

Though she had prepared herself, Tan Yang still collapsed onto the bed, letting the pistol fall from her hand to the carpet. Bi Qingtang stared at her in disbelief, then crouched on the floor, burying his face in his hands.

“You still wanted to trick me!”

“And you truly pulled the trigger!”

Both spoke with the same tone of despair and helplessness.

After a long time, Tan Yang, almost mad, pulled the bullets from under the pillow and hurled them at Bi Qingtang with all her might.

Author’s note: Two hundred thousand words now, sigh…

Bitan Chronicle 5553_Bitan Chronicle full free online reading_55 (53) Fate at Stake updated!